The World in Moonlight
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Even under the light of the moon he couldn't find his identity, it seemed. And as it continued to slip away, so did the heart of his brother...


**A/N**: A vampire fic of sorts, but because I'm a science student there'll be underlining science more than the superstitious myth sort of vampires. You'll see what I mean, and you don't need any background knowledge on vampires or science to understand this. :)

I meant to start this a little later since I've got a few other chapters in progress, but then I started writing my blog post on vampires in science a little earlier than expected, and I wanted to link this story to it. So you guys get to enjoy this a little early.

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**The World in Moonlight  
Prologue**

His heart thudded painfully against his lungs, forcing raspy breaths as a result. And he had to breathe; to breath was to live after all, just as to eat was to live and to drink –

He ripped his tongue from the roof of his mouth, trying to ignore the dryness that lingered. It seemed counterintuitive, as saliva pooled at the edge of his mouth, spilling over occasionally to run viscous treks down his chin before a rough sleeve rubbed them off.

His other hand tried to grip tree-bark, but what little skin he dug into fell away. They'd be sore in the morning, probably, but – he winced as a sharper pain shot through his index finger and he pulled his hand away. He leaned against the tree instead; he'd probably fall over if he didn't. He'd probably fall over anyway, but pain was a good attention-grabber, and blood a better one.

He'd gotten a splinter stuck in his finger. He could see its little brown head peeking out from a blob of red. That made him feel a little nauseous; the smell of blood always did, but the feeling seemed stronger now, more than it should from a little wound like that.

That thought didn't stop the bile from rising up his throat, but he shoved the feeling down – too suddenly, as suddenly his lungs were screaming for air. And he found himself on his hands and feet in the dirt coughing desperately, trying to swallow the sky and ignore the wet earth and blood.

He froze when, suddenly, he realised somebody else was there. Somebody who'd used the time he was preoccupied with his own sounds to disguise the crunch of grass, leaf and twig. Someone who now had their arms around him, pulling him up.

He hated that, and his brain froze because of it. He didn't hear the gurgled scream that erupted from his throat, didn't feel the pain in his ribs as he tried to rid himself of his captor's grasp. He didn't realise his nails had caught skin and flesh, that he'd bitten his own lip, that he'd somehow been flipped around so his back was flat on the ground instead, shoulders pinned. And he certainly didn't hear the words thrown at him: whispered, snapped, then shouted and finally whispered again.

But he felt the salty teardrops fall on his cheeks, slip into his mouth. And after that… After that he felt the too tight grip around his wrists that made him want to strain against them even more and yet still stop. He felt eyes upon him, eyes filled with both fear and a sadness he didn't – perhaps couldn't – understand, being who – or what – he was. But not anger.

And he…his eyes were still burning. He still felt nauseous. His mouth was still painfully dry. And the other, seeing he had calmed, still kept his grip tight as he helped him up.

'We're both a right mess,' the boy muttered, perhaps not meaning him to hear – but he did. His hearing was as sensitive as his nose, it seemed. Even if he couldn't make much sense of it all; he knew who was talking to him, who was helping him – he knew but he could not say the name.

And if he did know, why hadn't he been able to hold on to that thought long enough? Why had it slipped away into a night-terror he needed to be reawakened from? Why…why…_why was the blood still there?!_

He gagged, the smell driving all else from his mind again: a cloth to wipe it all faultlessly clean. But that voice was in his ear again. Sounding awkward. Uncomfortable… Afraid.

'Hey, don't throw up on me now, 'kay?' A pause. 'Damn, why'd you have to wander off anyway? You're still running a fever.'

The other finally got him up, but the wet earth stubbornly clung to the both of them. His breathing was a little easier now…or maybe he just couldn't hear it, the other's voice buzzing in his ears as it was.

'And you need something to drink too.'

His ears twitched a little, with the rest of his body shaking a little after. The blood was drying now; some of his senses were back…

_I'm not an animal! I'm n–_

'Come on.' The voice was a little gentler in his ears, though the grip was just as firm. 'We're going home, Ni-san.'

' – not an animal.'

'Of course you're not silly.' But the voice smelled of – not lies, but deception perhaps? 'You're just sick.' He was tugged – some way. 'Come on, let's just go home.'

He was shaking still. And a little warm – the fever maybe. And sore, or in pain – or both. And disoriented. And…

'Thirsty. 'm thirsty.'

The tugging abruptly stopped. 'Right. I – er – right.'

Even with the full moon above them, they were both lost it seemed.


End file.
